


What the Body

by akire_yta



Category: Farscape
Genre: Amnesia, F/M, Separation, early seaons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-24
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-24 13:36:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's mind is trying to remember, but his body has never forgotten</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Remembers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's mind is trying to remember, but his body has never forgotten

My name is John.

At least, that's what they tell me. They tell me I was an astronaut, and that I had an accident. That they found me wandering along the roadside, dazed, confused and mumbling, after losing my module on the radar.

That's what they tell me. But I hear words like astronut instead of naut, and adventure instead of accident. Why I hear that, I do not know. I can't remember what happened that day. I can barely remember who I am.

But I remember everything from that day. The tests and questions, the pitying looks and averted gazes. Being locked inside this building, never to taste true freedom again. I yearn to fly they doubt I could even tell a joystick from a joss stick now, but still I feel this soul  
deep need to free myself from the shackles of gravity, the black of space surrounding me as I swoop in low, teasing and playing in the gravity well of some orange giant or desert-covered world.

I don't tell anyone about these flashes I have I have heard them talk, I've lost my memory, not my intelligence. My species is bound to this world securely we have walked on our own satellite, no further. But I think I know better. I wish my mind would cooperate and remember.  
But it seems satisfying in teasing me with glimpses, as if in a dream but too real to be a product of my imagination. Exotic creatures painted in all the colours of the spectrum, feathers and fur and scales, teeth and claws and wings. This is no fantasy, I was never that  
imaginative.

I push off my perch on the edge of my narrow, institutional bed, and walk over to the high, barred windows. I will be allowed to wander the grounds soon, as my ward is released for its hourly quota of sunshine. I hate this feeling of being caged, of having no choice in what I eat,  
or where I go, or when I sleep. I'm going to need more than an hour. But the answers are so close, so close I can almost taste them. My memory wants to return, I can feel it pressing up inside of me.

There is something or is someone important I need to remember.

The orderly comes to line us up to shuffle outside. I am first in line. There is little fuss to get out of the claustrophobic walls of my pseudo-cell unlike most amnesia patients, I have been here a while. They all know me now, or at least they think they know me.

The gardens are in full bloom. As tumultuous as my thoughts are, I paused to admire a flower, delicately sniff at its scent. I feel an unexpected pang of loneliness and a thought erupts in my consciousness. _I wish Aeryn were here._

As if the name were a key, a million images flood across my mind. A tall, pale, radiant woman with long, luscious dark hair and a glint in her eye that makes me smile. Aeryn, this beautiful woman who has been lurking on the edge of my dreams for so long, kneeling over me, her hand wrapping around mine as she teaches me something, standing beside me as we fire little yellow bolts of light...

I jerk away from the memory so fast, the fingers that still hold the flower I was smelling tear it off the vine. We were shooting, I can remember that. I can smell burning in the air, despite being surrounded by flowers and grass. They were shooting at us, and we there is another figure there beside us as we fight, but I cannot force myself to recall a clear view of his face. It is a he, yes - and he is huge. But I do not fear him. I trust him, almost as much as I trust Aeryn.

What happened to me?

But it is as if the dam had broken, and disparate and unconnected images were now flooding across my mind as I wander vaguely down the grass-laid paths. Seeing Aeryn's dark hair glinting under the light of the consoles as we swooped among the stars in a sleek black ship. The big guy, standing next to me as I punch out an airlock. A grey girl, flying through the air to embrace me in a bear-hug. A blue woman with red eyes reaching out to grab me viciously by the ears. Resting with my head in a man's lap as he removed his mask to flood my vision with white light which removed my pain. A green blob with a mouth flying around, stubby little arms waving in a parody of grandiosity. Mottled shell with arms that flew like a concert pianists fingers, barely pausing to listen and respond. Walls warm to the touch that instantly conjured up a feeling of safety, of home. A golden girl opening her mouth to scream...

These are my friends. I can only remember one name, but I know instinctively that these are my friends. I feel trust, respect, amazement...love. The only other people I know who have invoked such a reaction in me are my father and DK. And they haven't mentioned any multi-coloured friends.

Who are they? And why aren't they here with me? Feelings of loss and isolation threaten to drown me, and I struggle for a lifeline.

A flash of red, pain in my head. A glowing circle in front of a seat, the only place to look as the walls spin around faster and faster. Shooting DK, and not even making a dint as he talks about pizza. My father, a gaping hole in his chest revealing a pulsating life of a different kind. A grey, twisted face encased in a leather mask, smiling in a grotesque parody of concern. Screaming and screaming, but no-one can hear me, and no-one can understand.

"John." I jump forward, twisting in mid-air to face my supriser. It's the orderly. "Time to go in, man." He jabs a thumb casually towards the wards.

"I want to stay out here."

That horrible, false smile of concern. I feel myself growing cold and focused inside as I look at it. "Nah, man, no can do. Let's go."

"No." I turn and walk away. He grabs me by the arm. Without thinking, I turn and twist just so, and the pain forces him to release me.

"Jeez, John, what's got into you!" I don't even deign to acknowledge his existence, I just walk away. Voices behind me, the other orderly's no doubt. My hand strays to my side without my even thinking of it. I feel naked and vulnerable in the thin cotton pants and shirt they gave me to wear. I used to wear a material like leather once. The sense-memory is unbelievable clear, and with it comes recognition.

When I first put it on, it was a costume, a charade. But it became familiar, comforting, like a second skin. I rub my bare arms briskly, well-aware of the goose-pimples that have erupted on my flesh despite the unseasonably warm and sunny day. Bare arms. I recalled the feeling of wearing a shirt and vest and jacket, layer after layer which covered me, protected me.

I drop my hands to my sides again, and once again my right hand splays itself just above my thigh. Winona, another name. But it's not a person. I clench my fist, and memory supplies the sensation that is missing. A weapon, like the one I fired as I stood beside Aeryn. Now that I have identified the missing sensation, my sense of loss escalates into a sense of panic. I never went anywhere without Winona, she kept me safe, helped me to keep my friends safe.

The voices behind me are moving fast, closing in. I exhale and consciously relax, muscles automatically preparing for fight.

I want to do my own thing. I want my freedom back, I want my life back. And I'm not going to find it inside that prison of a hospital.

The orderly's waste no time with a dangerous patient. The biggest one, who is even bigger than me, grabs me around the neck in a chokehold. The position is familiar, and the body reacts on instinct. My right hand grabs at his meaty forearm, giving me leverage to duck my head down and forward, leaving him open as my left hand swings, palm up, to drive my fingers deep into the flesh of his neck. Instantly the pressure around my throat slackens as the orderly crumples to the ground.

Pantek Jab. I suppress a slightly hysterical giggle. And Aeryn said I would never get the hang of them.

I've spun to face them, body slightly crouched to lower my centre of gravity, stabilizing my stance. There are three more, and I see behind them a doctor hurrying over. She has a hypodermic in her hand, and I know it's for me. I'm an amnesiac, not an idiot.

I can't let her near me. I don't want to loose this thread of self-control, self-identity I've found between the flower beds. I switch from defense to attack.

The orderlies are all big, burly men, but what I lack in bulk, I make up for in speed and skill. But it has been a long time since I have moved like this, and even though the muscles remember how, they have lost the strength required for them to be punishingly effective.

Outnumbered and weakened, the doctor slips in between the tangle of limbs and pushes the sedative into my bloodstream. I drift, my mind floating down warm, golden and brown corridors, looking for a sense of safety, family, belonging, that are absent here. They straighten me out  
and lift me onto a gurney as more nurses and doctors come to tend those I attacked and nearly killed. Weakly my fist clenches before succumbing to the drugs.

It's amazing what the body remembers.

Even when the mind forgets.


	2. Forgets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aeryn can remember, but cannot feel

I am Officer Aeryn Sun. No, now I am simply Aeryn Sun.

Peacekeeper bred and trained, irreversibly contaminated, orphaned, and now totally alone. I look out over the balcony at the immaculate grounds of the Hynerian Palace, a strange yet honoured guest of the reinstated Dominar. Tolerated for who I know, not who I am.

Frustrated, I turned away and stalk into the cool darkness of my room. At my order, the servants have cleared away every last decoration and embellishment, until all I am left with is a barren, cell-like space, high windows doing little to disperse the gloom, narrow bed made up  
with military precision.

Everything clean, simple, lacking in colour or vibrancy. A reflection of my mood. I stalk the space edgily, looking for a threat on which to focus. Something without, so I could ignore what was happening within.

You promised...we promised. We promised we would never leave the other. You told me once you would be lost without me.

I am lost without you. And I hate myself for it. I hate this feeling of weakness, of abandonment. This is not what I was trained for. I had few skills to cope with loneliness before I always had my unit, my team.

Then we met, in a cell totally unlike this one, and you stripped the last of my emotional defenses away. You were so patient, for so long...until one day I awoke to find we were sharing everything, including a bed.

Refusing to admit that I was sulking again, I stalk over to the bed and lay down. I can remember the exact colour of your eyes, the accent my translator microbes gave your voice as you spoke your language and I heard the words in mind. I may not have always understood, but I always heard you, John. I can remember every one of your stupid Erp sayings.

But I can't remember how you taste, or the feel of your hands on my skin. Memories supply names and dates, locations and situations. The technical details and the bare facts.

But where once I could recall the feel of your hand on my back with such clarity that my skin tingled, today I cannot even recall the sensation of warmth I know your touch brought. Distantly, I remember once thinking how wonderful and exotic your touch was, the incredible  
warmth you generated just by being. Physical warmth as your different physiology radiated a low heat. Emotional warmth, spread through simple things a concerned look, a seemingly casual 'you okay, Aeryn?'

A passion that went beyond warmth into pure fiery heat like I had never known before.

You dropped into my life in a moment of chaos, and you left the same way. I heard you say my name before the wormhole that had formed directly in front of you sucked you away with a power that almost took Moya with you.

My name on your lips is the last memory I have of you. And the only memory left where I can attach a feeling to the knowledge.

The feeling is cold, prickling isolation. Nobody else on Moya even tried to approach, though vaguely I noted their concern. Their meaningless pity.

The small Hynerian room is suddenly stifling, and I throw myself off the bed and rush out the door, looking for anything to occupy my thoughts. To stop me from wanting to call out for you.

I think your name, John, and all I feel is loneliness.

This is all my body remembers.

But I don't want to forget.

~~##~~


End file.
